


so precious to me

by lapoesieestdanslarue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Goodbyes, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pre-War, i messed with the timeline a little bit for added emotional angst :D, this is completely self-induldgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapoesieestdanslarue/pseuds/lapoesieestdanslarue
Summary: “Stevie,baby.” A name, tender and sweet, reserved only for those sacred moments between the two of them. “If you couldn’t see that I’ve been gone for you since the second I met you, then you’re more blind than you think.”





	so precious to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apolliades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolliades/gifts).



> tbh this isn't even Felix's fault this is all me and my self-induldgent fancies

The door to their apartment snarled and rattled as Bucky jimmied the key from the other side, cursing and blinding as he did. When he eventually wrenches it open (“the _goddamn_ thing,” he’d bitten out) it’s quick to be slammed behind him with a foot, his arms being used to shuck off his shirt and jacket, pressed and ready for his first day at base camp tomorrow. 

Base camp. Jesus. 

His Bucky Barnes, off to war, off to a whole wide world without Steve. Off to battlefields and war and trenches with a goddamn _suit_ and a hail mary from his mother. 

The letter lies open on the table, the ink hardly even dried. Cold, hard and damning. 

“You never told me you applied,” Steve’s the first to speak, his voice empty and numb in the silence of the apartment.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, stepping closer and sitting down across from his. He wrings his hands together, eyes already filled with guilt. “I’m real sorry. I’d’ve dodged it if I could’ve--”

“No it’s okay,” Steve answers, his voice thick with hidden tears. “It’s okay. I’m just worried, is all. Bet you’ll get to sock Hitler and all that glory will make your head twice as big as it already is. I don’t know how you’re gonna get through the door when you come home.”

“ _Stevie,”_ Bucky whispers, head falling onto his clasped hands, looking like a good little Sunday boy. 

“It’s okay, Buck,” he repeats, except this time he is crying and he can’t seem to stop. When Bucky looks up at him, face half covered in his arm from the shame of the whole thing, the sight of it sets him off too. Bucky pushes back his chair, rushes to his side, wraps his strong arms around Steve’s middle and presses his face right into his chest, letting out small sobs of his own. This is the thing they don’t really speak of; the half-there kisses in the middle of the night, the possessive touches, the passion, hot and heavy and the equal shame of it afterwards. 

Bucky mutters something into his left rib, tickling, but Steve doesn’t catch it. “What was that?”

“I said ‘marry me’.”

Bucky tears his face away from Steve and looks up at him, hair mussed from Steve’s fingers and eyes red rimmed but undoubtedly honest. 

“Don’t play with me, Buck,” Steve whispers, broken. “Not tonight.” _Because you know I would._

“Stevie, _baby.”_ A name, tender and sweet, reserved only for those sacred moments between the two of them. “If you couldn’t see that I’ve been gone for you since the second I met you, then you’re more blind than you think.”

The confession leaves him breathless, unable to speak or think clearly, so he settles for pressing his lips against Bucky’s, warm and forceful and full to the brim with love. Loving Bucky has always been a fact of life for Steve, as easy and as natural as it was to blink or breathe, and hard as it was to stop.

“Marry me,” Bucky mumbles again beneath Steve’s lips. “Marry me, Stevie, _marry me._ ”

Steve has to break away, laughing as Bucky attacks his neck with light pecks and “marry me’’s. “Doll I hate to break it to you but no church is gonna take us at this hour of the night,” it’s not the truth and they both know it, but Steve reckons it won’t do anybody any harm to pretend, just for tonight, “and what are we gonna do for rings?”

“This can be our church, hm?” Bucky’s smiling, made young again. “Temple of me and you.”

“Yeah, but the _rings,_ Buck. You think I’m that easy? It better be worth three months salary at _least.”_

They haven’t played and laughed like this in a long, long time, Steve thinks as Bucky runs off. Poverty made men of them much earlier than they should have, forcing them into sorrow and stress from their teens. But this, now, feels light in a way Steve can’t even begin to remember. Sadly, he thinks that this is probably the last time he’s going to feel like this in a while, so when Bucky comes back in, he makes sure to map the happy lines of his smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, so he can bottle up this moment and keep it with him forever. 

Bucky’s still exuberant, but there’s a nervous edge to it now as he walks in. “I really will get you a ring when I come back,” he swears, so much sincerity and want in his voice that Steve’s heart feels like it’s going triple time. “But this will have to do for now.” It’s a piece of twine, Steve recognises, knotted into a loop. Bucky gets down on one knee and tears spring back into Steve’s eyes. Bucky reaches out to wipe a stray one away, his own eyes going misty. “Steven Grant Rogers, I’ve loved you since I saw you try to take on Johnny Miller in the second grade, and I promise to love you in this life, and beyond the grave. Would you do me the honour of becoming my fella?”

“Yes, you damn sap,” Steve murmurs, watching as the twine slides onto his boney finger before hauling Bucky up into a crushing hug. 

They stay like that for a long time, embracing in the flickering glow of the candle on the table. After minutes, hours, Steve doesn’t know, Bucky pulls back, taking Steve by the hand into the middle of the room. 

“We gotta have our first dance, right?”

“The radio’s broken, Buck, remember?”

“Pshaw,” Bucky scoffs. “Who needs a radio?”

Steve laughs and lets himself be cradled against Bucky’s chest, swaying gently to some invisible, unhearable tune. _“Baby mine, don't you cry,”_ Bucky croons, cheek rested atop the crown of Steve’s head. _“Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine.”_

Screwing his eyes tight against the tears that prick at the sound of it, Steve just holds on tighter, moulding himself into Bucky’s wide frame, his arms, strong and all-encompassing, like the density of his love, real and tangible as his lone voice in the quiet of their apartment. Their two shadows are superimposed against the far wall by candlelight, dancing and swaying and trading soft, quiet kisses that say more than their words could be trusted to. 

“ _You're so precious to me,_ ” Bucky sings, voice low and burdened with premeditated grief for the parting that’s to come. It’s not enough, it never could be, but here and now in Bucky’s arms, the only two living ghosts in the dead annals of Brooklyn’s midnight, Steve pretends they can spin it into an eternity. _“Sweet as can be, baby of mine.”_


End file.
